


touch me there (you know where)

by vanillarouge



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Word Play, self exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillarouge/pseuds/vanillarouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i can explain</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch me there (you know where)

**Author's Note:**

> [no i can't](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XELpxApT8Kc)

**i.**

it’s a little like breathing and a lot like not, like being underwater and the water is hot and the hotness feels amazing and amazing is this.

check the lock cause this party is about to start; your bed pliant and submissive and yourself over the bed, sheets kicked away and jeans undone and getting tighter by the second cause you need this like you need sick beats like you need strifing like you need air, pull your hair and bite your lip and slide a hand into your shirt to tease a nipple, yeah baby just like that, buck into the air and get no reward until you’re dying for it, until you’re asking for it – please please please but there’s no one here to give it to you except your left hand and the baby blues in your mind’s eye, and the bastard’s between your legs and he’s smiling at you and his smile is oh so mischievous she’s so mischievous those eyes are now green.

 _dave i haven’t even touched you yet_ , little naughty giggle she’s so innocent oh she’s so innocent except when she’s not, cause that flirty little babe’d be playing with your zipper up and down, open closed, round sexy thighs pinning you down and tousled long black hair in her face, down her shoulders except you can’t take it anymore and her hair isn’t that long now it’s short short short and pale and you’re sliding your fingers into your boxers and seeing in visions those thin dark lips smirking down at you as you pull your dick harsh so harsh it almost hurts because that’s what she’d do and she wouldn’t let you touch those sexy sexy little pale perky tits except if you’d ask nicely enough.

one two step you’ve got a beat, up and down and down and up you go, and a little of a wrist flick, of a sweet trick, all so subtle oh so subtle you’re so subtle. clamp a hand to your mouth and suck on your fingers on her fingers on his fingers cause you’re about to increase the tempo and the temperature’s rising, the pressure’s surprising, there is nothing but them short nails scratching your chest like they’re somebody else’s and the slickness of your fingers and the friction such addiction this isn’t fiction this is true real sexy times here

;;

**ii.**

You’ve got to admit you feel a little sexy but curious a lot more, and you can’t really see all that well without your glasses but the chair’s seat is soft under your bum and the metal spindles cold against your back, and you’ve shed all of your clothes as soon as Bec left for the woods, and the candles cast strange shadows over your face, but here’s the thing, you’re far from scared.

Instead you slide your fingers against your skin, all slow and gentle because you’re just getting into this but you’re already panting and the space is closing around you, and you grip the mirror’s frame in front of you, delicate repoussé relief digging into the palm of your hand and knees knocking into the sleek cold surface, a whimper escapes you.

You’ve approached this as an exploration, a grand scientific research – observe the changes in your body, compare with the research you’ve done, consult hypothesis and now here you are, testing with an experiment, the rough pads of your fingers sliding slowly but with precision in between your legs, hot and slick and tentative and the dim illumination isn’t enough, this’d be a lot easier if the generator didn’t decide to stop working out of the blue sometimes but the surreptitious private feeling of it all makes you feel bold, adventurous.

And somehow you let your mind wander away from results and analysis and conclusions, but bold and adventurous are the thoughts that follow instead, no scientific method here but bare, innocent curiosity – see, there’s this boy, and he has soft black hair and pretty boyish hands and he’s just so funny he’s so cute when you talk to him online, and you wonder what it’d feel like if it were him instead, sitting behind you with his pretty hands against your body, not without a guilty heath creeping up your face, but the thought of his touch still makes you squirm.

You think he’d be gentle, a little nervous maybe, careful, and your sigh as you rub slow circles, your body heavy, hair sticking to your face and falling down your shoulders in waves, or maybe he’d be a little playful; _what do you want me to do now, jade?_ But you shake your head and open your eyes and look at yourself instead, that doesn’t sounds like him but like another boy you know and it sends little tingles down your legs, your breath hitching, because he’d be playful and fearless and adventurous, kissing you everywhere, touching you everywhere, or maybe he’d slip from behind you and kneel between your legs instead, and you try to imagine what a tongue would feel like down there— imagine naughty kisses being pressed up your thighs, leaving pretty black lip-shaped marks against your skin, little licks wet and soft and kind of solid, maybe pushing inside a little, violet eyes looking up at you from beneath thick eyelashes, all tender and coquettish, and it just feels so right, so _good_ —

;;

**iii.**

It feels Oh So Good and it is only getting better.

You will not vocalize this, of course. That would be tragic for a number of specific reasons you are indeed not in the r-right mind to list right now, but it may have something to do with noise, disturbance or inappropriate behaviour being prohibited in the School’s Library.

It is six in the afternoon and the place is positively deserted, except for the old lady a store down at the Reserve Desk and a couple more of students — all of them too distracted with their own affairs, or wearing heavy, also prohibited headphones, to notice you sitting in a corner of the Study Hall; pay attention to the way you cross your legs and smooth your perfectly ironed skirt over your thighs, if just slightly less gracefully than you would typically do.

The chair’s cushions and your penchant for only the best quality products make the noise almost imperceptible, but the vibrations are still as intense as they have been for the past twenty minutes, and you squirm just scarcely, cross your socked ankles together and cannot stop yourself from biting the inside of your lower lip. You turn the page of one of the heavy presumptuous books you’ve kept open around you if only for the alibi, which probably screams ‘do not come close, for I am busy’. And as they say, _oh boy_ , busy you are, if not exactly the sort of way your current image probably suggests.

Instead of studying the psychology behind the reflected appraisal process, you torture yourself by allowing nothing but the most perfect calligraphy as you write a small, admittedly self-indulgent story.

 _Strider gingerly kisses the back of his neck, lips tender and feverish, his breath steamy against jet black hair_ , you write, paying special attention to the way the letters curl into each other, ignoring the way your hands tremble just slightly. _And John shudders when he guides his hands to press against the gelid wall of the shower, their fingers interlacing as he pushes in, slicked and ready_.

Your breath hitches and you curl your feet inside your shoes, trying to push yourself away from the brink but the little toy inside you starts buzzing for a split second at a time, one, two, three times in an endless automatic loop cycle from hell, reminds you of the dream of a dream which haunted you last night, the way you think dark skin and soft curves would feel against your body, how real they felt, the slow deliberate licks down your heaving breasts, green eyes looking up at you and fingers, soft and slender pushing inside you—

 _“Can you,”_ you try to keep writing, breathing shallowly, _“feel me inside?” Strider asks-_

You drop the pen and touch your forehead to the smooth, cold surface of the table.

;;

**iv.**

the shower wall is smooth and cold against the hot hot hot skin of your forehead and your breath is heavy and you’re trying not to drown because the water is still warm and the steam is still making everything blurry but you’re far past the point of caring;

you’re biting your knuckles red and pretending it’s another hand around your cock, stroking hard and tight and sleek and hot, maybe thin long arms around your waist and small breasts against your back, pressing kisses to the back of your neck, and you want to laugh because you think being a romantic at a moment like this is stupid, but instead you moan softly, bite your knuckles harder because holy shit what if your dad hears you oh god bad thoughts bad thoughts think of something sexy

sexy like two pretty girls kneeling in front of you

their mouths against your skin, water sliding down their bodies in rivulets as their tongues touch together and they kiss a little, their hands roaming each other’s bodies but their lips still sucking the sides of your dick, wet and tight and warm and oh the water helps so much and you rub your thumb at the head and sigh because imagination is a many, splendid thing

like it’d feel to be held by strong arms maybe a

lithe body

against your back, holding you up and _god, egbert, so close already?_ and you whimper because yes, yes you are shut the hell up and touch touch touch, maybe he’d hold your hips still for the girls to finish you up and you squeeze the base with one hand and jerk off with the other and then you swear you can almost hear him laughing in your ear and then you’re coming, thrusting into your hands with your mouth open and a long, harsh breath—

you sink on your knees and breath in through your nose a guilty sort of afterglow, and wonder how are you ever gonna look at these people in the eyes again.

;;

**v.**

Rinse and repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> [(tumblr mirror)](http://missvanillamilkshake.tumblr.com/post/35242204177/fic-fic-fic-touch-me-there-you-know-where)
> 
> [](http://missvanillamilkshake.tumblr.com/post/35242204177/fic-fic-fic-touch-me-there-you-know-where)


End file.
